“This is for you,” she said. “I know what a flower-worshipper you are.” “Constance, you ought not to say that!” said her mother, reprovingly. “Why not?” said the other, going to her place and sitting down, a red flush on her face. “It is a common and very innocent expression, I fancy.” “That may be your opinion. The expression you use so lightly has only one and a very solemn meaning for me.” Fan glanced wonderingly from one to the other, then dropped her eyes on her flowers. In a vague way she began to see that her new friends did not exist in happy harmony together, and it surprised and troubled her. The bright sunny look had gone from Miss Churton's face, and the meal proceeded almost in silence to the end. And yet father, mother, and daughter all felt that there was an improvement in their relations, that the restraint caused by the presence of this shy, silent girl would make their morning and midday meetings at meal-time less a burden than they had hitherto been. To Miss Churton especially that triangle of three persons, each repelling and repelled by the two others, had often seemed almost intolerable. Husband and wife had long ceased to have one interest, one thought, one feeling in common; while the old affection between mother and daughter had now so large an element of bitterness mingled with it that all its original sweetness seemed lost. As for her degenerate, weak-minded, tippling father, Miss Churton regarded him with studied indifference. She never spoke of him, and tried never to think of him when he was out of the way; when she saw him, she looked through him at something beyond, as if he had no more substance than one of Ossian's ghosts, through whose form one might see the twinkling of the stars. It was better, she wisely thought, to ignore him, to forget his existence, than to be vexed with feelings of contempt and hostility. Mr. Churton, after finishing his breakfast, retired to his “study,” with the air of a person who has letters to write. His study was really only a garret which his wife had fitted up as a comfortable smoking den, where he was privileged to blow the abhorrent tobacco-cloud with impunity, since the pestilent vapour flew away heavenwards from the open window; moreover, while smoking at home he was safe, and not fuddling his weak brains and running up a long bill at the “King William” in the village. Miss Churton finished her coffee and rose from the table. “Constance,” said her mother, “I think that as it is Friday to-day it might be as well to defer your lessons until Monday, and give Miss Affleck a little time to look about her and get acquainted with her new home.” “If you think it best, mother,” she returned; and then after an interval added, “Have you formed any plans for to-day--I mean with reference to Fan?” “Why do you say Fan?” “Because she asked me to do so,” returned the other a little coldly.